My Son's Sitter

Abruptly, I stand up.

“Anyway, looks like you’re doing great. I’ll be back later.”

As it turns out, later is five minutes later. Or, it would be if I let my sneaky brain get its way. Instead, I keep my ass firmly rooted to the ergonomic seat that my mom insisted I buy.

Every five minutes or every time I get distracted, the same thought pops up, insidious and misleading: Why not go check on Stevie and Winston? I swat it away as quickly as it comes, clenching myself instead into place on the chair.

Once the time hits 4 PM, there’s no avoiding going back down there. It’s time to face things. Down the first flight of stairs, some pop chords beckon to me from the basement.

There, an onslaught of pop music attacks my ears while Winston grabs my hands.

“Dance with us!”

He and Stevie are jabbing their fingers up and down and wiggling their hips to the music. Grudgingly, I let my son encourage my socked feet into a few steps of their own.

Winston, meanwhile, moves between Stevie and me. He insistently tugs at my arm until I half-heartedly join in, then discos his way over to Stevie who’s shaking her hips to the music already.

Finally, he compromises. Taking my hand and then Stevie’s, he guides us into a sort of semi-circle.

“Hold hands!” He encourages us, “A circle! A circle!”

Winston’s sudden change surprises me. I’ve always pegged him as a serious boy, but then again, I’m pretty serious myself, and I’m the person he interacts with the most by far.

Right now, I haven’t seen him this animated since… we went to Disney World a few months ago. Could it be that Stevie is already having an impact on the boy?

Stevie’s hand is reaching out in front of mine. Grudgingly, I take it. The shock of contact sends a thrill through me. Her skin is silky and supple. And is that a whiff of peach that I smell?

Our eyes meet, and my heart skips. I wrench my gaze away. Hell to the no. I am not going there.

Once the song finishes, I go over to the little sparkly red boombox and turn it off.

“It’s time for Stevie to go home now,” I tell Winston before he can protest.

“Aw….” He says, his whole face falling.

“But she can come again tomorrow,” I say without thinking.

“Yeah!” Winston whoops, throwing his arms around Stevie.

I ruffle his hair affectionately.

“I’m just going to talk to Stevie for a minute before she goes, okay bud? I’ll come down to play with you soon, alright?”

Only once we were up the stairs and in the kitchen do I turn to face Stevie.

“I haven’t seen him get that excited in a long time,” I admit.

Stevie, for her part, looked flushed. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are dancing.

“He really is a great kid,” she tells me, “he listens well. He’s fun and has a ton of energy. And it’s kind of cute how…”

Her baby blues widen. As if realizing she was about to say something she shouldn’t.

“Problem?” I ask.

Other than the fact that I want to make those blue eyes half-lidded with a totally different expression?

“Nothing,” she says quickly.

“Just that…” she says after a minute, “he has your hair and eyes. Almost like a mini-you.”

“A mini-me who’s a lot nicer,” I quip, smiling a bit to myself.

I’ve had enough experiences with irate clients and distraught exes to know that I’m not generally known for being a kindhearted Samaritan, as fair as I try to be. Seems to me that people never want to hear the truth. Not until it’s twisted and distorted so much that it’s no longer the truth at all.

Stevie tucks a strand of hair behind her little ear while her head tilts my way uncertainly.

“It’s just that I can be abrupt,” I explain, “but anyway, that doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you did well. Now you can go off and enjoy your day, with your boyfriend or whomever.”

An awkward silence.

What the hell was that about, Clayton? I wrench my gaze away from the alluring dip of her lower lip. Hopefully the answer isn’t as clear as day to her as it is to me.

“I take all that to mean that you’d like me here tomorrow then, too?”

I nod without looking at her.

“You can come by 9 AM. I’ll meet you, get you all set up, and then … hold on a second.” I shake my head, as if to shake away the jumble of incoherent thoughts bumbling around in there.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday; I almost forgot.”

The reasoning is obvious. Since it’s Saturday, I shouldn’t actually need Stevie’s help at all.

The next words come out before I can stop them: “Would you like to come with us to Legoland?”

As confusion crinkles in the corners of her eyes, I continue quickly, “Of course, you’ll be paid as normal. I just thought — Winston had so much fun with you today — it might help for you two to bond more.”